


there lives a loner in his tower

by EveningTiefling



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, Blood, Gender Dysphoria, Knifeplay, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Mild Blood, Projection, Voyeurism, general gender feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 05:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningTiefling/pseuds/EveningTiefling
Summary: in which Felix projects, Sylvain is as usual himself, and there is some deep considering Felix has to do.TW: knife play, cutting, a lil blood and alcohol use.10/7 Recently updated for continuity issues~!!!!





	there lives a loner in his tower

Felix is laying in his bunk, looking at the ceiling, repressing, waiting, recovering. Cursed by his body, wishing he was a little bit taller, stronger, able to recover faster or at least had the muscle mass to not care. No matter what abuse he puts his body through, he wants to hurt it more, to become numb to the hurt enough to push harder. 

Felix notices Sylvain doing things, the unfortunate object of his affection. He challenges him, probably in an effort to make him stronger too, to add to his fortress and have a little bit of control over the things in his life he feels he’s losing. They train every day, share meals, and Felix values the moments he has with his best friend, but can’t help that stinging feeling that he wishes wasn’t there. The creases in the corners of Sylvain’s eyes when he laughs is enough to both spark the feeling, and remind Felix that he has to escape. 

In the goddess tower, thinking too hard and picking chips of stone off the edge of the windowsill where he sits with a dagger, he thinks only of the future, and of Sylvain. His freckles, his smile,, the rumbling of his voice, and the tone it takes on when he jokes. Damn him. God damn him. Felix sends his feelings tumbling down the wall of the tower, along with all the pebbles he’s pried out of the stone. 

He wishes he could forget his past, he wishes he could walk away from all this war and turmoil, away from Mercedes and her holy goals, away from Ashe and his childish wishing for everything to be happy. Away from Ingrid’s controlling spiral. Nothing in his past is golden, nothing is worth saving in that memory bank but pieces of him. Of the two of them together. So he has the immediate things, and the pin-point focus in front of him. Felix is fine with being blind to the future, so long as he can fight.

\--

Down by the marketplace, a place where the rich students are usually bargaining for new wares, Hilda flirting with the armorer to get shinier and prettier metals for the hilt of her axe, Felix nods once at the blacksmith. She lets him walk his own way to the back, an open anvil and stool that she keeps open and ready. Felix sits at the polishing wheel to re-sharpen his weapons: his multitude of pocket knives, a dagger, and his beloved sword, all in need of work after the most recent battles. 

He sits down to work, honing his short blades while the heat of the furnace glows behind him. The sword will be quick work, he’s done it hundreds of times before, but he takes his time plunging it into the furnace to make sure it’s not directly touching any flame. He sits again to sharpen his small knives, making quick work of the short blades, enjoying the heat of the coals at his back, glancing to check on his sword. He pulls it out of the fire, hammers it straight, and plunges it into the barrel to cool. Waiting while the steam hisses, he fingers over the handle of his last dagger in his pocket. 

The crest of House Gautier frowns back at him, and he sits with a sigh to sharpen Sylvain’s knife, left it at the training ground after opening some note that came in for him from town, and then he abruptly left after promising he’d be back late, off to meet someone new. 

Stupid.

\--

Felix sits straight up in bed, unable to sleep after hours of tossing and turning, the blue glow of the full moon bright enough to light his room. Sylvain usually sleeps alone on the other side of the wall, two rooms down, and the thought alone of it drives Felix insane. Sylvain isn't home yet. He'll be tired for training tomorrow. Felix hates not knowing if Sylvain is safe, wondering if the idiot redhead had even made his way to town

With a humph, he throws his body back to the mattress, squirming with the speed of his thoughts. He throws the blanket off his body, cursing the verdant moon for its heat and damp. 

He hears a laughing down the hall, curious for the time of night, when all students should be far past asleep, but many of them are still up studying, or grappling with their own demons the way Felix is. The laugh booms louder and Felix rises, instinctively grabbing at the sharp knife underneath his pillow, unsheathing it from its leather holdings silently. He squats for a moment before rising to his feet. 

He remembers that laugh-- Sylvain. Finally, the overgrown idiot makes his comeback. But another voice rings a higher laugh with his-- 

_ Did Sylvain bring another girl home?  _

Like he has on a few other nights. Even though he really tries to be a lady killer, Sylvain only manages to bring some back, and they almost always leave at a reasonable hour. This is… late.

_ Did Sylvain know he was awake?  _

_ ….Would he come over if he called?  _

He takes a step away from his bed, sneaking towards the door, toes pointed and feet arched in the way he’s trained to surprise an opponent with a powerful swing or a dagger to the heart. 

Sylvain’s infernal shuffling grows closer, and Felix grips the knife ever tighter, digging the handle into his palm, relishing the pain of his gritted teeth and crushed leather against the meat of his hand.

He presses his ear against the door, hearing their flirting conversation through the smooth wood, raking his knife against his thigh while he hears the fabric of the two bodies shift on the other side. 

Felix’s hand wanders, half dancing fingertips over the soft ache in his crotch before snatching his hand upwards toward his belly. He digs the knife harder into his hand, pressing the meat of his thumb along the blade in frustration, testing its sharpness. The fabric of his lounge pants is thin, taut, just enough for Felix to feel his hand teasing towards his growing cock again while the sound of his sparring partner kissing another rings jealousy and want through his ears. 

Sylvain fumbles, rattling in his boots. He’s drunk. Was drinking. The girl pushes him, in what must be the weakest little press against his chest, and Sylvain goes flying backwards into Felix’s door. 

“My room’s… that way,” Sylvain slurs, singsong and sunshine in his voice, drowned out by a girlish giggle. She’s probably pressing her tits into him, barely reaching the base of his ribcage. Felix can all but see the teasing strokes her hands are making over his sides, feeling the dent of each abdominal, grown muscle after years and years of training.  _ His training. His. elix wishes he were her.  _

Felix grips his cock with his full hand, digging the tip of the knife into the line of his thigh. 

Felix hears a  _ Shhhhh _ , and a lull, and the shuffling of clothes. Another kiss. She’s probably half undressing him, fondling his lower belly and fingering his belt, and a jingling of metal clasps confirms Felix’s vision is true. A tightness wells in his chest, knowing they’re pressed against the other side of the door. 

Felix presses his back to the door, bracing it, but it seems like Sylvain is fumbling toward the doorknob anyway. He hears it do a half-hearted turn before Sylvain pauses, Felix swears he can hear his breath through the door, feel the heaving of the taller man’s chest through the damned wood…

“No, hold on.. This is my friend’s room.. Best friend. Shhhh!!!” Sylvain giggles, and a breathy sigh means she ducked back in to lock lips. 

Felix can hear his heart in his ears, breathing in his belly, the knife tracing harder against his leg where he holds it at his side. He grips his member in his hand, touching with sure strokes, but mostly pressing the full grown length against the low of his abdomen and relishing in the pressure as he feels the knife finally biteinto his leg. He pulls the knife out, thumbing over the crest again, gripping the handle like death, and thinks about Sylvain.

_ Sylvain takes the knife from him, holds it to him, tilts his chin up with the very tip of the freshly sharpened blade…  _

He hears a soft, girlish moan still outside the door.  _ Why are they still fucking here? _

_ Sylvain’s sly smile as he breaks their kiss to trace the dagger over Felix’s nipple, threatening to carve into him that crest that they both hate in that stupid joking voice…  _

  
  


He hears a rustling and a “No, no no… let’s go..” from that leathery voice outside, and finally the door creaks as they pull away from leaning the weight of their two damn bodies on the entrance to his room. They stumble away, all giggling, the jangling of Sylvain’s belt giving them away in their obvious oblivion towards the end of the hall. Felix hears a door shut in the distance and falls to his knees, gripping the knife in one hand and his cock in another, his teeth grit and his shins stinging.

He knows they’re back there, doing what Felix is sure Sylvain has done tens of times, but the pit in his stomach lurches as he closes his eyes and hears them again, all shuffling clothes through the thin walls. 

He grips his cock harder, stroking vigorously while trailing the knife over his leg, clenching his jaw enough to seize it. 

_ Why am I not her. Why am I not her. Why am I not small, wrapped in his grip… _

Felix pictures everything, the slow undressing with no breaks, all skin on skin, and flits back to the knife, to Sylvain dragging it between his thighs to open them, to his mitt of a hand grabbing the underside of his knee roughly to push his leg open and back, to those cherry lips to the cold of his adonis belt, exposed for who knows how long while he was undressed. Like the girl is being undressed, like the dress he would wear for Sylvain if he asked. 

He drops the dagger to the floor, finally noticing the barely-there smear of blood drying on his thigh when he hears a loud laughing yelp in the background, and he wishes Sylvain would throw her out and fold him in half. 

Felix leans in towards the rug, bent forward, jacking off with his back arched, biting his tongue with the force of holding back. He hates it, the wanting, the feeling of being so pent up in his thoughts that nothing can break him. But this.. He has to tell Sylvain soon, or has to stop the thoughts.. The invasive idea of Sylvain replacing all those midnight trysts with visits to his room.

He nearly bites his own tongue off, listening to the coos of the woman in the other bunk, thrusting in time and begging whatever goddess is real to make him stronger. Stronger than he is. 

\--

Felix waits until the wee hours of the morning to return the dagger, making sure there was only one pair of shoes outside Sylvain’s door before slipping inside his bunk and laying the knife, in its short leather case, on the nightstand. 

He wonders how many gifts he will have to give Sylvain until he can give him one without the weight of that crest. Without the burden of their families, and lives on the line.

Stupid. 

**Author's Note:**

> I WILL... keep writing this to make the long beginning WORTH it eventually...


End file.
